Logs:Seeds of Discord
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 20 September, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Jocelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jocelyn checks in on Farideh and discusses her (xenophobic) concerns over Quint's behavior. |
| Where: Greenhouse, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 11, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: The sky is clear today. The air remains cool and damp, but the weather is overall pleasant today. |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Quint/Mentions |
| The greenhouse is warm, the green is always warm, and on cold, damp days like today, it's not completely unusual to find Farideh relaxing amongst the buds and blooms. She's strategically pacing the walkway through the plants, free of any hidework or other bric-a-brac for once, and yet she looks anxious all the same. Still pale, still slightly nauseous looking, but she's scraped her hair back into a pretty chignon today and dressed in a clean blouse, tucked into a buff-colored skirt. Two gardeners putter around the greenhouse, ignoring the goldrider as much as she ignores them, except for the occasional side eye. It is unusual to find Jocelyn in the greenhouse for any lengthy period of time, but perhaps the promise of greenery and its naturally uplifting effect on the spirit simply couldn't be ignored for at least a small part of her afternoon. In any case, the assistant headwoman takes to wandering the paths designated for traffic with a less-than-subtle walk, boots clomping with her short, quick steps. Also free of hidework, though not without her usual, impatient expression, she's at least respectful of where the gardeners are working, careful to remain out of their way. Once pale eyes catch sight of that carriage, that chignon, that skirt - she's all for catching up with Farideh's walk, giving the rider's name in an even murmur for a greeting once she's within speaking distance. Inside isn't exactly quiet, with the gardeners moving around and the gurgle of water from the pools at back of the greenhouse, yet the sound of her name is enough to Farideh's focus. "Jocelyn," is equally as soft, as the weyrwoman comes to a stopping point in her walk, turning slightly to take in the assistant headwoman with mildly searching hazel eyes. "Was there something? I was in my weyr, but I-- felt like fresh air, and it's too cold out there." She makes a sound like a sigh, but not quite, and slowly pivots the rest of the way to face Jocelyn. Jocelyn's own, light eyes scan the younger woman briefly in the space of the other's searching gaze, lingering a moment on that face still shaded pale. "You still don't look good, " she remarks after a moment, sticking her hands into her trouser pockets. "Hardly too cold outside if you're in the right amount of layers." There's a brief glance back for the gardeners, then a low, pointed: "I don't like that harper." For the other woman's concern, there's a small, tired smile. "They tell me that this episode should go away on its own soon," Farideh replies, slanting a baleful glance towards the windows and, by association, the bleak conditions outside. "Who?" she asks, her gaze returning to Jocelyn. "Journeyman Quintus?" And then, there's a bright laugh, one hand lifting to cover her mouth. "I'm sorry, but Jocelyn," voice lowering, "a lot of them are like that. Riders steal away innocent holder daughters, they say. More often I find it's harpers. Glib tongue and pretty faces." "Soon, " Jocelyn repeats with some skepticism. "You've had this for almost a seven." There's a narrow-eyed look, then, for the goldrider's laugh and an impatient huff. "Right, the riders are either the saviors of Pern or the thieves of virtue everywhere. That's expected enough, but he's too cheerful and asks too many questions about how we feel about how things are run." And she manages to make being cheerful sound like a crime. "Sometimes these things last longer. Sometimes when we're tired and stressed out, it can take over our-- how did they say-immune-- I don't remember, but, it should be fine." Long-suffering, Farideh bears the weight of the assistant headwoman's displeasure with the same, tired smile in place, her lips only twitching occasionally. "What do you think he's after? Our secrets? I don't think we have any, after the kitchens and laundry gets a hold of them." And sometimes, the aftermath of a flight can facilitate the production of nine-month "stomach flu, " but Jocelyn settles for giving a little hum of disbelief and moving on to the more pressing topic at hand. "How in Faranth's name should I know what he's after? He's making a point of seeking out decision-makers and inquiring about our internal operations. He's an outsider, harper or no, and unless we're under investigation for some reason or another, I think he's trying to know too much for someone who just arrived." Arms cross over her chest, demeanor that of a grumpy, suspicious xenophobe. The sigh that escapes Farideh's lips is heavy, but she makes a gesture with her hand for Jocelyn to follow as she resumes walking, at an even slower pace. "I understand you're concerned. I think he's a funny-- not in an amusing way-- man myself, but it's part of their jobs to know things and find out things and make sure they're--" Her lips press together briefly. "Have you listened in on his classes?" But ultimately, she shrugs her shoulders. "I can find someone to keep an eye on him. We can warn Irianke and K'del, but--" Jocelyn, despite being naturally suspicious, does know that harpers ferret out information when they aren't busy singing songs or crafting fancy tales to be of amusement. "Not yet, " she admits as she follows in Farideh's wake. "Mostly I try not to run into him." Lips pursing briefly, her still-crossed arms remain tense as they stroll. "Some might say I'm a bit off my rocker, but we're going to hit a very busy period in the lower caverns soon enough. With all of the inevitably new faces, it's too good of a time to hide in plain sight. He wouldn't be a candidate looking to drop a duty here or there." "Some people might think that's strange. He is pleasant to look at, and tall, and I assume he can sing. Isn't that what we, as young women, aspire to?" It would be hard to miss the undercurrent of amusement in her otherwise casual words. "Can you try to tolerate him for now? Until we know him better there's no reason to avoid him completely, or think he's up to something nefarious." Farideh pauses to stare at a waxy-leafed plant. "A pick pocket? Of a harper? Or leading the candidates astray? Perhaps we can borrow the apprentices he came with?" Jocelyn's lips twitch the tiniest bit for aspiring to tall, musical and handsome. "If he's really such a fan of character building, perhaps we could, " of the apprentices. "I certainly won't be seeking him out, but if I see him in the corridor, I won't try to take the long way around." It's ... a start? "I should get back, " the redhead says after a bit, sparing that waxy-leafed plant a brief look. "Keep taking care of yourself, or doing whatever the healers told you to do." For all of her oft-clipped words, there's nevertheless a tiny curve of almost-smile for Farideh. "I don't think Harper Hall has limited our options, yet. It's something to think about, and, if he bothers you--" There's a pointed look for Jocelyn, and a surreptitious smile after. "I'll try. Beyond the tisanes, naps and fresh air seem to help. Soon, I hope." She waves a hand towards the redhead, but keeps moving forward, past the waxy plant. "Stop worrying about me and enjoy the rest of your day, Jocelyn. I'll see you in the morning, I'm sure." "Me, worrying, " sniffs Jocelyn as their paths split. "The very notion. See you tomorrow." But she returns that wave with a raised hand before setting off for the exit at a trot, shoulders tense. |
Comments
Edyis (22:09, 21 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
Suspicious Jocelyn is suspicious. This was amusing to read.
Leave A Comment